


The History of a Skull

by Haru_Loysingh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot Twists, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock´s Past, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, billy - Freeform, hinted Johnlock - Freeform, maybe hinted sheriarty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haru_Loysingh/pseuds/Haru_Loysingh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wondered about the Skull, placed on Sherlock´s mantel? How he came into Sherlock´s hands and who that person was he had once belonged to? I tried to make up some story for him, showing lots of Sherlock´s History in flashbacks and at the same time letting him solve a case related to that in the present time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_adler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_adler/gifts).



> Set between "A scandal in Belgravia" and "The Hound of Baskervilles"  
> Year I guess around 2010/2011
> 
> Remember Sherlock started smoking again when Mycroft gave him a cig after they looked for Irene´s Body. Yes. He started again there - proof would be the fact that he wants "some" at the start of the Hound episode. "John get me some. I need some!" So yeah, I edited this story a bit and got that in as well. Wanna keep to the facts, ne`? ^_~

It had been raining all day, typical for a London weather.  
I had set out for some groceries shopping knowing Sherlock would probably be home late tonight from one of his sudden trips abroad. He had not even bothered to tell me where he had gone off to.  
Loaded with bags I headed towards 221B when I recognized a boy in his late teens strolling around our entry. First it appeared as if he was just checking out the “Speedy´s” next door but as I got closer I clearly saw him searching for name templates at our door.  
“Can I be of any help?” I asked casually.  
He twitched and turned around, staring at me with wide, dark eyes. He was thin, almost dangerously thin and about my height but much younger.  
“I – um..” he started of.  
“If you´re looking for Sherlock Holmes” , I said, balancing the bags on one arm while fumbling for my keys. “He´s not in. Try again tomorrow.”  
Disappointment crossed the boy´s face for a second. Long enough for me to see it though. “Are you his client? Is it urgent?”  
The boy shook his head. “Can you give this to him?” he asked, slipping an envelope into one of the bags before I could comply. It was heavy and for a moment I was almost scared he had just placed a bomb on me. (Having been a target for Jim Moriarty had set off some paranoia in me.)  
“Eh, sure.” I said anyway. He didn´t look like one of Moriarty´s men. But then again – not did Moriarty and yet he was able of getting people killed for no more reason than money or distraction.  
“Thanks”, the boy said, hurrying away. I Looked after him, still wondering if I would blow up to pieces any second now.  
~  
I was dozing off when I heard the stairway croaking under Sherlock´s feet. By now I could tell him apart from everyone else. “Welcome home”, I mumbled. “Mind to tell me where you have been?”  
He slipped out of his coat and threw me a mysterious smile. “Out.” he just said. “Having fun!”  
Well, I should be happy he wasn´t all covered in blood then, I thought. Shaking my head I got up, groaning under my stiff limps. Should stop sleeping in my armchair.  
“I´ll make some tea then? Or did you have enough of that in...” But instead of answering he hopped onto his chair. “Would be fabulous!” Now he surely was in a good mood. Sherlock reached for the mail that had been piling up since he had disappeared. He didn´t even reach for the pack of cigarettes, leaving me with a content smile.  
“Anything of interest?”  
I shrugged, pouring water into the pot. “Bills, some clients asking for an appointment – oh, and Lestrade´s been down with a cold. He sends his greetings and said you shouldn´t go overboard until he´s better.”  
“I said interesting.”  
Earlier in our friendship I would have rolled my eyes at him but now I just smiled, being used to this tone of annoyance.  
“Nothing that would be of any particular interest to you.”  
Sherlock nodded and returned his attention to the mail, his eyes finally rested on the heavy envelope – which had not exploded yet. Thankfully.  
“Oh, right. I forgot.” I said. I placed a china with tea on the little table in front of him and then pointed to the envelope. “Some boy dropped that off earlier the day. It´s not ticking so I guess it´s not a bomb.” I added with some faked humour.  
Sherlock gave me one of his his ´are you serious?´ glared and - probably out of habit – held the envelope against the light, trying to check out it´s insides before opening it.  
Curiously I leaned over. “What is it?”  
He ripped it open and pulled out another bag, transparent this time. “Soil.”  
“Soil?”  
“Yes. Dirt. Mud. Soil.” He opened the bag and sniffed on it. “Wasn´t away from it´s origin too long. Still smells fresh. Probably gathered today.”  
Almost a bit disappointed I leaned back again. “You think that boy was send to bring that to you? As a clue or something? You think it´s him or someone else?”  
“Might be.”  
“Who? Moriarty or someone else?”  
“Might be. Or not.” He buried his fingers into the soil and smeared it between them, finding out whatever he found out while doing so. It would always stay a mystery to me.  
“Any ideas yet?”  
“How did he look like?” he asked.  
“The boy? Eh, about my size but younger. Fair skin...”  
“Clothes?”  
“Yes.”  
Sherlock dropped the bag onto this lap and gave me this look This particular look. “I assume he had not been outside there naked. Not in the rain. Not in late November. What was he wearing?”  
I felt my cheeks flushing and hated him for giving me this broad grin of his now. Why was it so easy for him to confuse me lately?  
“Yes. Well, casual stuff. Pants. Jeans!” I added quickly on his chuckling. “Dark blue and a black Jacket. Nothing that would take someone´s attention.”  
“Hm.”  
I took a sip of my tea, trying to fight the urge to yawn. It was beyond midnight.  
“You should go to bed. I will finish this first.” Sherlock said, pointing at his untouched tea.  
When I was almost out of the door I heard him say. “One John. I have one idea.”  
~  
I woke up late the next morning only to be informed by Mrs Hudson that Sherlock had already left. “He said he´ll meet you at noon at ´Ask Italian`.

I thought we would have breakfast toghether!” I told Sherlock when I arrived. We barely ever had breakfast together and I had no idea why it was bothering me now.  
“There was something I had to do by myself.” he answered. He smelled of cold smoke and I squinted my eyes in disgust.   
I took a seat and ordered some pasta for myself. Sherlock rarely ate in public – unless he was in “I-just-finished-the-case-let´s-go-for-dinner!” moods. He barely ate at all actually when he was solving a case – which was like ...always.  
“So”, I started. “Anything about the soil?”  
Sherlock brushed his tongue over his lips, his face obviously trying not to give anything away. This case – if it was a case – wasn´t like the others. Somehow it hit me in an instant. This case was kind of personal to Sherlock Holmes.  
I looked up and straight into his piecing eyes. “Sherlock? Exactly who send you that soil? And I know you have found out that by now!”  
“The question should rather be: Where did it come from, John.” he said and I could almost hear the sigh in it.  
I frowned. “And where does it come from?”  
“A grave.”  
A cold shiver ran down my spine now. “Someone you knew?”  
Quickly I tried to remember if he had ever talked about someone close to him who was deceised but then again Sherlock never talked about the time before I met him. I only knew glimpses and these I knew of Mycroft or Lestrade. I didn´t even know if his parents were still alive.  
Sherlock pulled up the collar of his coat – which he was still wearing in the restaurant I just realized. By doing so he let me know I wouldn´t get an answer to my question. Suddenly he got up and rushed out. Swallowing down a curse I threw down some pounds for the untouched Pasta and hurried after him. Thank goodness I had taken the time to have a proper breakfast.  
“Taxi!”  
“Where are we going, Sherlock?” I asked.  
He slid into the cap and I quickly got in as well.  
“Gunnersbury Cemetary please!” he said, turning to me then. “My past”, he added, only for me to hear.

 

_**_  
 _Another raid._  
 _Not my first – probably not my last._  
 _But this one had a bloody smell to it and my expectations sadly turned out ot be true._  
 _When I entered the club my guts made a jump at the smell. I could almost taste the blood on my tongue._  
 _This definitely wasn´t a normal raid. No back room with kids and young adults dealing and consuming drugs. This club looked like a massacre had just taken place. Dead bodies, blood and that foul smell everywhere._  
 _“Set some reinforcements!” I called out, trying to make my way through the dead bodies. What had happened here before we came?_  
 _“Lestrade!”_  
 _I looked up when I Head one of my new colleagues – a young woman, called Donovan, just finished with police academy – call out my name. “We have someone alive!”_  
 _I hurried over to her, looking down to a young male, curled up with his back facing up. He was covered in blood, but with no visible injuries and he was shaking and heavily breathing._  
 _I squated down next to him, touching his shoulder gently. “Hey! You´re okay? I ´m Detective Lestrade. It´s over now!” He would be another vicitm, luckily having escaped the massacre but on the other hand he would also have been the reason, so I was prepaired for almost everything. With some gentle force I tried to turn him around. Suddenly his head shot up and he stared at me. His pupils were dilated by the drugs but yet the way he stared at me let me shiver._  
 _“He´s holding on to something!” Donovan said and tried to turn him more so we could see what it was._  
 _“Holy shit!” Donovan spat out. “It´s a head!”  
**_


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is Sherlock to go visit on the grave? And how is it connected to his past?

 

Although my mind was racing we kept silent during the drive. Even when we got out and passed the impressive gates of the cemetery. Sherlock seemed to know exactly where he was going so I followed him. 

The boy seemed to have been waiting for us and by now I was dying to learn what all this was about and how this boy was connected to Sherlock´s past. Plus why he took me along instead of going by himself like this morning. 

“Would you stop this for a moment?” 

“Wh-what?” I stuttered, surprised by Sherlock suddenly speaking up. 

“All this thinking. It gives me a headache. I will explain everything to you but now: would you please shut up?” 

It´s actually pretty hard to refrain from thinking. Especially when you´re with Sherlock Holmes and when there´s something right in front of you that could give away something of his well hidden past. Something that seemed to mean a lot to him. But just like in the other cases I tried to focus on something else. 

The boy was standing in front of a grave. Probably the goal of our journey. <William Christopher Mitchell< it said and according to the digits he had not even reached his mid twenties. He was dead now for around five years. Maybe this was one of Sherlock´s old cases? He must have been off of University for two or three times then and it was – as far as I could recall it – about the time he and Lestrade met for the first time. At least Lestrade had once mentioned he knew him for five years already. 

“It´s been a while, Sherlock”, the boy said. “Almost five years. Why did you never show up?” 

“Why come to an empty grave?” 

“Because it´s HIS grave Sherlock!” he shouted. “I always thought you cared for him!” 

Sherlock? Caring for someone? 

I looked over and saw Sherlock´s jaw ticking. I couldn´t help but think that this was just getting really, really interesting. Someone Sherlock really cared – had cared about?

“John? Would you leave us alone for a moment?” 

“What? No! Sherlock, you said...” Why did he want me to leave now? Why bring me along in the first place?

“I know exactly what I said but not now John.” 

The boy stared over at us and suddenly seemed to recognize me. He snorted and his gaze was full of despise. “Oh! So it´s him now, Sherlock? Will you go and steal HIS skull when he´s dead to keep him on your mantel, too?” 

I blinked, slowly getting the pieces together. “Billy? You – you mean that´s Billy supposed to be in there?” I asked, pointing at the grave. And here I had always thought Billy had just been a really good replica. 

“Don´t you dare say his name!” The boy shouted at me before turning back to Sherlock. “So it´s true then? You did steal his head from the morgue?” His voice was trembling. He sure had been close to Billy. He was sentimentally attached to him, as Sherlock would put it. His younger brother maybe?  
“Nathan!” Sherlock growled, his voice so low it gave me a shiver. “Would you both shut this nonsense? Nathan, whatever you want speak out.” 

Nathan grunted and looked up to my friend. His face was grim and full of hate yet I could see a glimpse of hope or ...admiration? 

“I´m in trouble and I need to get away.” 

“Why come to me then? I´m not the police. I can´t get you into some kind of witness-protection programme.” 

Well – IF someone would it would probably be Sherlock but I rather chose to stay out of this. 

“Because it´s different and I know you´re clean now. You know how hard it is and … I`ll never forgive you for what happened to my brother but I also know you´re a fucking genius.” 

Sherlock swallowed hard on his words. Oh yes, this was definitely about his past. His drug past even it seemed. 

“Give me all I need to know.” 

“Oh, I guess you know everything already. You know the people. The places...” 

For a moment Sherlock just stared at the boy, reading him, then his expression suddenly turned so dark I was afraid he would hit him. And it seemed Nathan thought so too, because he stepped back a bit. When Sherlock spoke his voice was so low and as dangerous as I had never heard him before. 

“Nathan James Mitchell, don´t you tell me you got involved into the same trouble that got your brother killed?” 

“YOU killed my brother! It was only your fault! He should never have gotten involved with you! You ruined everything for him. He could have been happy if you had not stolen him from...” 

"Oh Shut up!" Sherlock snarled.

Now my jaw dropped and I gasped. 

This boy really had guts. 

Sherlock snorted and turned around pulling up the collar of his coat. Clearly a sign to leave. “You forgot something, Nathan. I didn´t steal him! I ...” 

I could make out he apruptly chose to change what he had intended to say.  
“I cared for your brother and now you asked for my help, so I will. You say I killed your brother, yet you trust me enough to come and ask for my help?” 

 

_“Hi!”_

_He didn´t even bother to look up._

_I entered the lap and slowly walk over to him. “You´re the genius everyone talks about.” I said, taking a place opposite of him. I´m was student, having my learning year in the morgue of Bart´s and I heard them talking about him all the time. So I had gotten curious._

_“Freak.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_He looked up and in his eyes shines a whole universe._

_“Freak. I´m the Freak they all talk about.”_

_I chuckled at that and somehow his lips twitch and he joins my smile._  


 

Silence. 

Again.

The urge to just ask him what all this was about was almost unbearable – and yet I didn´t. I hid his supply on cigarettes, knowing by how grim and nervous he was that this would be a long, probably loud night. It seriously reminded me of some nights during the time he had thought Irene Adler dead. 

And that made me nervous.

When Sherlock started to play the violin I sneaked out with my laptop, planning on my own research now. 

 

The name William Christopher Mitchell gave me thousands of hits. So I tried to add crime and the year and month of his death. There was one involved in a drug raid close to London and I curiously read over the article. There was no mention of Sherlock but Lestrade had been the Officer in charge. Instead of a normal raid it had turned out to be a bloody massacre with several deaths. And one surviver. 

The violin stopped and I quickly closed my laptop.

“You know”, Sherlock said as he entered my room. “Actually I had gotten an email by him. I couldn´t tell the soil was from Billy´s grave.” 

“You couldn´t?” Now that seriously surprised me. Sherlock could tell ashes apart but not soil? 

He smirked and sat down on my bed. “Sure I could. The texture is different and – well, you want to know things, right?” 

He looked over to me and his eyes rested on my laptop. “Or did you find everything out by yourself yet?” 

“Yes, no. I mean no. Who was he Sherlock?” 

“That´s the answer I will give you so far. And actually I already gave it to you months ago when we first looked at the apartment together. A friend of mine.” 

 

_I had known that he was a musician by the time he entered. This fragile hands. Beautiful so. Piano probably. Yet, he was also working in the morgue. By his age I guessed he was still in university, probably learning here at Barts. He was probably like 4 or 5 years younger than me._

_It just happened back then. Sure I deducted out of habit but when I had been a child it had just happened. We had made games out of it, Mycroft and I. Who would find out more of that new neighbour, of the new schoolmate? Who would find out earlier who was getting what for Christmas? But during the time I met Billy fir the first time I did it on purpose rather than out of habit. It was my shield. I played with people. People who mocked me or my ability to see things they didn´t bother to recognize. People who called me Freak. So I payed them back by telling them what I saw. Explaining it to them to show off how easy it actually was. If only they would open their eyes._

_Billy was different though._

_Sure I could see things on him. Like the musical career he wanted and could have but chose not to, probably due to the younger siblings he had and that he had to take care for. Like the Lover he had but wasn´t sure anymore if he loved her...or him._

_And yet, Billy was indeed different._

_Billy never once called me a freak. He never laughed about me. He neither asked for help when something happened to solve it with this `stuff I could do´._

_After our first encounter we met more often. By chance first, he showed up wherever I went and kept talking to me, later he invited me on small sessions with him on the piano and me playing the violin. He had been so enthusiastic when he had found out I could play the violin._

_We became something others might have called friends._

_I can´t remember but one day I realized I had started to enjoy his presence._

_But then, I got bored and ran out of things to keep my mind busy.._

  


 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to find out more about the skull.

Sherlock kept to himself the next hour- even days. I didn´t get more information from him, instead he stayed away from me, brooding on his chair in the living room. From time to time he would stare at Billy´s skull on the mantel and on the third day I caught him stroking it.  
“So?” I asked on the evening of that third day. “What are we going to do about Billy´s little brother?”  
It took Sherlock full five minutes to snap out of is thinking – or to come back from his mind-palace. Whatever. “You? Nothing.”  
“But...”  
“No. This is my case.”  
Now that hit me harder than I had expected it would. Sherlock did some cases on his own from time to time but he would nevertheless talk to me about it. And especially with this case I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to know what this was all about.  
“I thought we were partners” I mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. At first I expected him to ignore me but then he looked up and into my eyes. “This is a dangerous case, John. I´d rather not have you involved.”  
It touched my heart, yet: “Is it because I could find out something about your past?”  
His lips tightened. Bingo.  
“Look Sherlock, Why are you so...”  
He didn´t let me finish. “My case, John!”  
I grunted and got up. “As you like!” I snapped, leaving the room.  
  
~  
  
“So, you wanted to ask me something about an old case?” Greg Lestrade said, staring longingly at the sandwiches on the counter.  
I felt sorry for him so I offered him to order something. “Yes. Thanks for spending your Lunch break with me”  
Lestrade managed a smile. “Thanks John. So, now go ahead. What case and why? A bet with Sherlock or another little fight?”  
“I want to get my hands on the files of a case several years ago. Dezember 31st 2005. A raid at <Sleeping Sun> with various victims. All dead by the time the police showed up.”  
I saw Greg tensing up extremly. “All but one.” he pressed and I nodded, having expected this. “And let me guess, I´m now living with that one person.”  
  
 _“He wouldn´t let go of that skull! He´s some weird freak or something! Gross! Totally gross.”_  
 _I sighed and threw Sally Donovan a glare that didn´t impress her though. Instead she went on: “You think he snapped and killed all the people in there?”_  
 _“There´s no evidence in that.”_  
 _“Oh, and what about everyone else being dead while he doesn´t have a scratch?”_  
 _I sighed. Donovan was new to my devision and she was longing for her first big case. Yet something, somehow I knew that boy  we had found wasn´t the murder._  
 _He was in his mid twenties, black curls, lean figure and he hadn´t said a word yet. Actually he was more or less unconscious – probably because of Shock and the amount of drugs they had found in his blood-circle. My team though had found an ID on him and the name odly ran some bells in my mind. Holmes. I have heard that name before – not the with same first name. Surely a rather unique name like ´Sherlock´ would have stayed in my mind for some time – no. But with a similar weird first name attached to it._  
 _“What about the head? Could they identify him?” I asked. Donovan shrugged. “Anderson´s on it. Male and in his early twenties. They´re still searching for the dentist´s files. There´s not much left of his face.”_  
 _I nodded. His had all turned out to be quite monstrous. Much more than I had expected from a little raid._  
 _“He´s awake and wants to talk to someone!” One of the other officers called and I jumped up, hurring out before Donovan could follow me._  
 _He was pale and definitely worn out. The drugs had gotten to him and once again I felt pity for him – for such a young lad being destroyed like this._  
 _When I entered he turned to me, his eyes piercing through me. “Where´s his head?” he asked, his voice sounding clear and stern._  
 _“Can you remember anything?” I asked._  
 _He frowned and furred his brows. “Every detail will always be burned in here.” he said, pointing at his head. “Now, where is his head?”_  
 _Well mannered speech. He wasn´t just some boy who had landed on the streets and got himself addicted to drugs. There was more to him. To his question though I couldn´t answer much. “We´re trying to find out who he belonged to.”_  
 _“I want him back.”_  
 _“We can´t give you the head! It´s... It has to be examined and buried and his family being told. It would be faster if you could tell us who he was.”_  
 _Turning his head back to the wall he clearly showed me I wouldn´t get any answers on that._  
 _“Detective? There´s someone who wants to talk to you. Some high minister or something!” One of my officers called and I frowned. Why now? When I turned to leave I heard him whisper something._  
 _“I … owe... you...”_  
  
“So it was him?” I asked, pulling Lestrade out of his memories.  
“Yes, but it´s not for me to tell you about it.  
Frustrated I leaned back and sighed. I had expected as much. “Can´t you give me anything?”  
“We couldn´t find out much ourselves. Sherlock got out because Mycroft pulled some strings but it´s actually still within the unsolved cases. Only Sherlock knows what had happened there but he refuses to talk about it.”  
“How come Sherlock was able to steal the skull?”  
Lestrade sneezed and I quickly offered him a tissue. “Oh that´s something I would love to know myself. I have a faint suggestion though it has something to do with a certain new pathologist who started out at Bart´s that year. “  
I looked up and it made sense. “Molly Hooper.”  
  
 _I almost dropped the scalpel when someone spoke up to me. Usually the dead don´t speak up – so I had been sure I could finish this section all alone and by myself._  
 _“Who´s there?” I called out, trying not to let my voice sound as scared as I felt._  
 _He entered and I would bet for a moment I must have stared at him with an open mouth. He was the most handsome person I had ever seen. But it was not only his looks, how tall he was, those black curls and his eyes – oh blimey, his eyes, they seemed to stare right through me. No, it was also this amazing charisma and aura he had . I had no idea who he was, why he was here in the morgue past 9pm but I knew for an instant I would do anything for him._  
 _He came closer, letting me get a closer look on his high cheekbones, his slender body and those magnificent eyes._  
 _“Some days ago there was a skull found in a raid. Do you keep it here?” he asked._  
 _His deep, vibrant voice made me shiver._  
 _“W-who?” I cleared my throat to gather my thoughts back into my mind. “Who are you?”_  
 _But he ignored me, his gaze hauntingly searching the room. “The Skull! Is it here?”_  
 _“I´m sorry. It was moved. I don´t think I can help you...”_  
 _He stopped and turned to me, seemingly recognizing me for the first time._  
 _“Then you´ll help me find it.”_  
  
When I came home that evening Sherlock sat on his chair just like I had left him some hours ago. Yet the way he looked up at me did show me something was indeed different.  
“Why can´t you leave it be my case?” He asked, as I moved over to the kitchen. I was starving. “Hm?”  
“You met with Lestrade, You asked him on Billy´s file. You tried to get in contact with Molly.”  
I didn´t even ask how he had found out – he would tell me anyway.  
“Tissue´s in your pocket. Lestrade still has a cold so you took some in case he needed, which was the case indeed. You smell of smoke because our dear Detective Inspector still likes to be around smokers sometimes even after quitting smoking himself. And Molly called to ask what you wanted.”  
There he did it.  
“And by the face you made when you entered I know you didn´t get the file from him, because there´s nothing in it you don´t already know.”  
I sighed and returned to the living room. “Why don´t you just let me help you then?”  
Sherlock looked up to me and gave me this particular broad smile. “Oh, actually I will!”  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Moriarty <3

  
_"Soooo booooored!" He groaned and I stared at him a bit worried._  
 _"Maybe you should find yourself a hobby? Try to compose your own melodies! It will keep your mind focused on something."_  
 _But that worked only for a week. He started experimenting on dangerous things and I got more and more worried he would blow himself up one day. I felt the urge to find something that would distract his mind, give him some rest._  
 _And the only person I could think of was my former boyfriend._  
 _I don't know why I felt this attracted to such big minds. To such cleverness. They were so similar I thought. Just that one felt like an Angel, while the other felt more like a Fallen One to me._  
 _He worked as a storyteller for children at a small TV Channel, using a fake name. That earned him barely enough to get by - though I never understood why he had chosen this instead of doing somethinhg that was worth of his clever mind. The kids loved and adored him. Him and that cute irish acctent of his._  
 _I catched him at the stage entry, his black hair messed up, his dark eyes glaring at me. "Why are you here, Billy?"_  
 _"Can we talk?"_  
 _He buried his hands in the backpockets of his jeans, looking up at me. Blimey, he was so handsome. Yet... He was special. Sometimes he had scared the hell out of me and the next moment he was so gentle._  
 _"I don't know what we should talk about."_  
 _"I just need an advice."_  
 _"Oh, right. That new boyfriend of yours. He's gotten bored and now you need an idea how to keep him sane? Have you tried fucking him?"_  
 _I swallowed at his words. "He's not my boyfriend."_  
 _"So you haven't fucked him yet?" His voice was so cold it hurt._  
 _"Can we talk somewhere else? People are starng."_  
 _He looked around and smiled at them. His dangerous smile. One that never reached his eyes and chilled me to the bone._  
 _"No." was his simple answer._  
 _I gathered everything I had. "So, do you have any idea? You're both so clever with your ever working minds. How do you distract yourself when there's nothing to do?"_  
 _He stepped closer to me until his bodies almost touched. His gaze - just for a second turned and showed me pain and bitterness._  
 _"You were my drug", he whispered. "But you dropped me for him. You let me fall." he whispered. Then he stepped back and threw up his arms. "Now I kill people again to distract me!"_

"We met at Bart's. He and Molly started outnat fresh pathologists. But in his heart he was a musician. He was really good with the piano."  
I sat in my chair, almost scared to move for it might made Sherlock stop talking. He stood at the window staring out into the night.  
"We met sometimes. He was so persistant. Always showing up where i was. Then later we met on purpose. He...distracted me."  
"You became friends." It just spilled out and for a moment I was worried he would stop talking now. But he was so deep into his memories, so deep into his mindpalace he probably didn't even hear me.  
"We got in trouble. My fault. And involved with...people. It ended badly and.." He looked over at me suddenly. "It was all my fault. He was dead, his body gone and just his head was left." he whispered, staring at Billy's skull.  
"What kind of trouble?" I asked carefully, suspecting it to be the drugs Sherlock had been addicted to. But my friend waved me off. "It's not important. What matters now it that Nathan got himself involved with them. I think - no, I perssume he's still hunting after Billy's body."  
"You think whoever stole his...remaints till has them?"  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
Sherlock shrugged. "I have no idea."  
"But maybe I have one." I said - getting one of these rare 'Surprised-Sherlock' looks. It quickly changed into a 'no-way-you're-100%-wrong-because-your-brain-is-not-high-functioning-as-mine'  
"Sentimental attachment." I said, ignoring his looks. "Just like you stole his head from the morgue - which is, if I may say so, totally gross! - maybe he kept his body?"  
"But why just the body? Why did he behead him and leave the head for me?"  
Was he really going into my theory without blindly turning it off?  
"I have no idea. Maybe - whoever did give the order for the massacre wasn't there himself? Maybe Billy wasn't meant to be beheaded? Can you remember details of that night?" Of course he could. He could probably remember the first word he spoke.  
Sherlock frowned and his lips tightened. Surprised I looked t him. "What? You cannot? I thought you can remember everything within your mindpalace?"  
"I locked that door," he said pressed.  
"Then unlock it?"  
"I...can't."  
"Why?"  
"Because I lost the key, okay?" he snapped.  
I didn't believe him for a second. He just didn't want to because it would hurt.

  
 _The call had reached me really early in the morning. And of course it was about Sherlock. Always Sherlock._  
 _The little boy. The little Lamb who got lost._  
 _The young man who didn't use this particular special mind we had for something that would bring him...well, a good place in society._  
 _Instead he spend his time solving riddles that didn't help anyone._  
 _Or at least not many._  
 _I - for my part got a place in the government. And not just a tiny one. I use my brain to rule and he his to play._  
 _What a pity._  
 _'He had not called for days! Go find him, Mycroft. See that he's not in trouble. He's your little brother!"_  
 _I love him. I really do - but sometimes I hate the fact we are brothers or even born on the same planet. In the same century. He could ruin everything I work for. It's not the funniest thing having to explain a drug-addicted younger brother who couldn't keep his mouth shut to other ministers._  
 _On a daily base._  
 _So, what else clould I do but dig him out. Again and again._  
 _This time though he was in really big shit. Not just up to his shoulders, like usually._  
 _"Detective Lestrade I assume."_  
 _The Detective was probably just a bit older than me. I smiled and offered my hand. "Thanks for seeing me."_  
 _He was confused, stressed. Of course he was stressed. My brother was involved. Everyone would be stressed. Plus this case was bigger tehan he had expected but I could see how he liked it. He probably longed for a promotion._  
 _"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I heard you found my little brother?"_  
 _He was thinking. Obviously. Then his eyes widened. Oh yes, now you know who and what I am. And what I am capable of._  
 _"Eh, yes. Sir. He's the only survivor and witness of a massacre. But he refuses to talk. Maybe you cou-"_  
 _Well, now that was not new to me. Sherlock could be so extremly stubborn._  
 _"I'm here to bring him home, Detective."_  
 _"What? No! We need his evidence!"_  
 _I glared him down. "Listen Detective. I can either be yur friend or your foe. A friend would let my brother leave and close this case - which you can't solve anyway because - trust me - no matter what, Sherlock won't talk. Or you can be my foe and Detective, I am sure you don't want that."_  
 _Again thinking._  
 _Thinking about the pro's and contra's._  
 _Usual minds are so slow._  
 _"Listen Mr Holmes, I really...I can't. This is an official case and the.."_  
 _"Who? The Yard? The government? I AM the government, Detective. No one will know about this...incident besides you and me and your team. I assume you can control your team?!"_  
 _Lestrade swallowed. Blimey, this took longer than expected._  
 _"I will go pick him up now", I said, leaving him standing in the hallway._  
 _"Oh and Detective? I wouldn't mind calling you Detective Inspector on our next meeting."_  
 _Swinging my umbrella I walked down the hallway but I didn't make it far. A young officer ran past me towards Lestrade._  
 _"Boss! He's gone! The freak's gone!"_


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Chapter. Finally. Sorry for the delay and I hope you´ll like it.   
> (Should I write more Sherlock Fic? Tell me!)

„So, how did you manage to get the skill from the morgue? I mean, someone must have recognized the missing, right? Didn´t they come after you?“ I asked but Sherlock just shrugged. „They never found out. Sort of.“   
„Means?“   
He looked over and a small smirk appeared on his lips. „They never asked. Molly changed the records. I guess Lestrade knows but he never asked either. Maybe he covered up for me or something. I don´t know.“   
„Why would he? Cover up for you?“   
Sherlock rubbed his shower damp hair and jumped down on his chair. „How should I know what´s going on in his brain? Maybe he saw something in me no one else saw.“ He added with a very silent, thoughtful voice.   
It would fit because I knew how much Lestrade actually liked Sherlock. I tried to hide a smile and changed the topic back to the main interest. „You need to help me get all this in the right line. You and Billy were ...friends? And you two got into some sort of trouble of which sort you won´t tell me.“   
Sherlock nodded.   
„Something happened and Billy got killed. You stole his head and got away with it.“   
„I didn´t actually steal it. I just....took him home.“   
„Sorry but that sounds ridiculous. You need to give me more explanation to this. I mean, how come you had a friend in the first place? I thought you...dislike people?“   
For a while he just stared at me. Then he shrugged again. „What for? It´s not relevant for the case I´m working on. I get Nathan away and that´s about it. Why dig deeper into it?“   
„Because actually WE´re working on it and I´d like to know more about it. I´m...curious. Who is it Nathan´s working for?“  
„I have a guess.“   
„And?“   
Nothing. Sherlock just got up and ruffled his damp curls.   
„Sherlock!“   
„Nathan will be here soon. I have to get dressed.“   
Suddenly I had an idea. „Sherlock? That trouble you got in, was it about drugs?“   
But I didn´t get an answer. Instead I just heard Sherlock slam the door to his room which was answer enough for me.  
  
 _I barely heard his voice. I was drifting in my own space, running with Redbeard over the fields outside my mindpalace. I just drifted in lovely oblivion. But there was a voice trying to reach out to me._  
 _“Sherlock! Get yourself together! Have you gone totally nuts?”_  
 _I groaned and blinked a few times, trying to focus on the real world. The horrible boring real world._  
 _I was lying on some blankets, a couch maybe in a dimly lit room. There were others, drifting away like I wanted to. Just running from the boredom. But someone was holding my arm, shaking me slightly and calling out my name. “Sherlock!”_  
 _“What is it?”_  
 _“I should ask you! What´s this?” He was waving something right under my eyees._  
 _“A syringe?” I said calmly._  
 _“What the hell was inside? Did you inject that?”_  
 _My vision was a bit blurred and my head ached as I tried to remember. “Don´t know. Heroine, Cocaine...I forgot.”_  
 _I heard the syringe flying through the room and shatter on the floor. I could clearly hear it even though it wasn´t actually silent enough for it. My senses were working overtime. I smiled. Like this I could......_  
 _I heard Billy curse and felt a sudden sting on my cheek which brought my focus back to him._  
 _“How dare you throw away the beautiful gift  you were born with!” He growled._  
 _I groaned and looked up to him, moving my now hurting jaw. “You said you didn´t mind!”_  
 _“I didn´t mind the smoking! I disagreed but accepted the Marijuana. But how do you dare ruin your beautiful mind like this?!”_  
 _“Beautiful?” I snapped. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be surrounded by people who think you´re a freak?”_  
 _“I don´t....” he said silently but I was too high and in too much rage to listen. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be so much cleverer than the rest of you? When only your brother could maybe understand you but he despises you? Moves away from you because you are different? Because I actually TRY to get out of our shell? Any idea how outcast and weird you feel when you move around in the real world and you realize you actually ARE the freak?”_  
 _“Sherlock, let me get you out of here.” He reached for me and wrapped me into his coat. My senses tingled. Everything seemed to be heightened and there was something wrong but I couldn´t grasp it because Billy just hold me, was kind to me. It distracted me. He took my jacket up from the couch and just that moment hell broke loose._   
  
Sherlock looked horrible when he came out of his room again and I realized right away he had remembered something from the past. Maybe my pressure on his had loosened his locked door. He didn´t say a word about it though and just sat down, now fully dressed and we waited silently for Nathan to show up.   
We didn´t have to wait long. Mrs Hudson let him in and he quickly took a seat. Probably he could sense the tension in the room. Sherlock got up and handed him some papers. “New ID and a ticket to California. An acquaintance of mine will give you a job there. Something more legal.”   
“Thanks.”  
“I guess I owe you so much.” Sherlock said, his voice unusually soft. “After all you´re right. It was my fault your brother died.”   
Both, Nathan and I looked up. Sherlock returned to his seat and sat down. “That night he was mistaken for me. It was me who was supped to get killed but instead they killed him. He gave me his coat and took my jacket. I guess in the dim light of that ...room it just happened to be a mistake.”   
“A mistake!” Nathan hissed. “Why did he get involved at all! Sherlock I want to know what happened!”   
“Don´t you know it already? Didn´t he tell you before he send you after me?”   
I was confused now and gasped when Nathan suddenly pulled out a gun, aiming at Sherlock. I wanted to jump up but Sherlock stopped me, so I just sat there, tensed to the bone while Sherlock seemed surprisingly calm.   
“He told me you stole Billy from him. You bewitched him with that mind of yours, Billy always had a thing for astonishing minds! Billy let him fall and just turned for you. So he was angry and wanted to get rid of you. But....”   
“But that night, when Billy tried to get me out of the backroom where I got my shots, he was mistaken for me and beheaded, while it was actually was meant to be for me. His revenge on me for taking his only friend away. For Billy becoming my only friend instead of his.”   
Nathan still aimed the gun at Sherlock, his hands were shaking though. If I would be quick I could easily unarm him.  
Slowly Sherlock got up and walked towards Nathan. “I still wonder though why he send you, instead of sending some of his really neat assassins. He must know you couldn´t kill me.”   
“How can you be so sure of that Sherlock?” Nathan asked.   
“Because you won´t. You were sent to remind me of that time. Nothing else. There´s more behind that.”   
Nathan turned the gun and handed it to Sherlock. “He said, he´ll handle that with you himself. I should tell you that. And something else.”  
“What?” I asked, before Sherlock even could.   
“He said to tell you: he owes you a fall.”

 

 

The End?


End file.
